


Always

by parseltonquinq



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Harry is messed up, M/M, draco loves him anyway
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-06
Updated: 2016-07-06
Packaged: 2018-07-21 22:21:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7407391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/parseltonquinq/pseuds/parseltonquinq
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Draco loves a boy who has only known hate.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Always

When Draco was ten, he fell in love with a boy with hair like the ruffled feathers of a raven and eyes the color of the beer bottles the boy’s uncle drank. **  
**

He told the boy one day when they were playing on the playground at school. Harry had just climbed on top of the monkey bars and was dangling from them, hanging upside down. Carefully, shakily, Draco joined him, then turned to face him, trying to ignore the sensation of all the blood rushing toward the top of his head.

“I love you,” he said matter-of-factly to his best friend.

Harry’s eyes widened and he stared at Draco. His face was starting to turn red and it made his eyes look greener. Draco thought he looked funny with his usual mop of hair hanging away from his face.

“Thank you,” Harry said.

Draco smiled. “Do you love me too?”

Harry frowned and fidgeted. “How do you know if you love someone?”

Now it was Draco’s turn to frown.

“I don’t know,” he was finally forced to say. “You just feel it in your chest that you love them.”

The recess bell rang and Draco never got to hear Harry’s response.

* * *

When Draco was fourteen, he was still in love with the boy with a fiery temperament and destructive tendencies.

He told the boy one day after he had dragged him from a fight with the boy’s cousin. They were in Draco’s bathroom and Draco was dabbing at a cut on the boy’s temple, where he had been shoved into unforgiving asphalt. The boy’s jaw and fists were clenched and he was sitting on Draco’s counter as Draco worked. His knuckles were bruising and so was his cheek, but the boy didn’t seem to notice.

Draco didn’t mention the multiple bruises on the boy’s body that were obviously not from the boy’s cousin. The last time he had tried, the boy had ran and Draco had thought he had lost him for good.

“Why do you keep doing this for me?” Harry asked him quietly.

Pausing, Draco gulped and gripped the damp, blood-stained cloth tighter to hide the slight shake in his hands. He chewed the inside of his cheek and steeled his jaw.

“Because I love you,” he said simply.

Harry’s brow furrowed. At first, Draco thought it was due to anger, then he noticed that Harry’s eyes were wide with bewilderment. Draco tenderly treated the cut on Harry’s temple, allowing Harry to process his words. He didn’t need to explain himself.

Harry’s mouth opened, then closed, then opened again. Draco watched him struggle for suitable words, pretending not to notice. He rinsed the cloth out in the sink, then turned to look at Harry, who seemed to have gotten himself back under control.

“Thank you,” he said, so silently Draco wondered if he had imagined it. But then Harry’s eyes were on him and Draco nodded his acknowledgement.

* * *

When Draco was seventeen, he was desperately in love with a boy who smoked too many cigarettes and lost himself in artificial happiness.

He told the boy one day when they were standing in his room, in the dark. The boy reeked of smoke, salt, and alcohol, and he was shattering in Draco’s arms. His forehead was shoved in the side of Draco’s neck, his hands were clutching desperately at the front of Draco’s shirt, and silent tears were rolling down his hollow cheeks. Draco’s arms were grasping the boy firmly, as if afraid the boy would drift away if he wasn’t careful enough to keep him anchored.

The boy had run away from home after getting into a fight with his uncle and punching him in the face. Draco knew as well as he did that if he showed his face in his relatives’ house again, he would be killed.

Draco wouldn’t let that happen.

He murmured softly in the boy’s ear and brought a hand up to stroke through the tufts of soft, messy hair at the nape of the boy’s neck. The boy choked on a dry sob and pressed himself even closer to Draco. He could feel hot tears trickling down his neck, catching in his collarbone and soaking into his shirt, into his skin.

“We’ll figure something out,” Draco promised, his voice low and sincere. “I’m not letting you go, I won’t let you go back.”

The boy pulled his head up from where it had been buried, and stared at Draco. Draco realized only then that his own cheeks were damp as well.

The boy’s eyes were red-rimmed, his lashes were dark and clinging to one another, and streaks ran down his sharp cheeks. Draco had never seen him cry before. He looked angelic.

A calloused thumb smoothed over the ridge of Draco’s cheekbone, catching a tear. Harry’s eyes were staring at Draco and they were _open_ and Draco felt naked. Harry’s other hand was still clenched in the front of Draco’s shirt.

“You’ve stayed with me this whole time,” Harry said, his voice hoarse. “Why? I’ve done nothing for you.”

Draco squeezed his eyes shut and brought a hand up to wipe his nose and eyes. He blinked his eyes open to find Harry still staring at him, looking all at once desperate and vulnerable and _small_.

Draco’s eyes pooled with tears once again as he spoke, his voice barely a whisper. “Because I love you.”

Then hands were twisting in his hair and his mouth was being pulled down to meet Harry’s. He let out a strangled sort of sob and his fingers grabbed at Harry, clinging tightly in hope that it wasn’t a dream. Harry tasted like salt and cigarettes and he kissed Draco so fiercely that it reminded him of the angry boy Harry used to be.

They pulled back when their lungs were threatening to burst and Harry rested his forehead against Draco’s, squeezing his eyes shut tightly. He was clutching onto Draco just as desperately as Draco was to him.

“Thank you,” he whispered.

* * *

When Draco was eighteen, his heart was buried with a boy who had skin as cold as ice and a peaceful expression on his face.

He helped carry the coffin out of the church, not caring that there were tears streaming down his cheeks. His hands shook and his knees threatened to give, but he held up the boy just as sturdily as he had while he was still alive.

He stood to the side, watching as the boy’s coffin was lowered into the ground. He felt numb and there was a gaping hole in his chest, right where his heart used to be. The tears had dried on his cheeks and now his face felt tight. Nonetheless, he watched, motionless, as dirt was shoveled onto the coffin.

When the sun had set and the boy was tucked away, finally put to rest, Draco allowed himself to visit the boy again. He placed a bouquet of lilies on the newly-packed earth and stepped back. The boy was buried beside his parents.

Draco felt his eyes prickle again and forced himself to shove the tears down. He sniffed, then tucked his hands in his pockets. He stared at Harry’s headstone.

“I love you,” he said, his voice hollow and hoarse from crying. “Always have, always will.”

He scrunched his eyes shut, then turned and walked away, his head ducked low.


End file.
